


Love Lies Bleeding

by thatdamnuchiha



Series: Children of War [2]
Category: Naruto, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Blood and Gore, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dark, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual healthy relationships, F/M, Haruno Sakura Has Issues, Haruno Sakura Needs a Hug, Haruno Sakura is So Done, Haruno Sakura-centric, Humanity, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Last Alliance of Elves and Men, Lothien is Sakura, Master-servant relationship, Memory Loss, Mental Instability, Middle Earth, Minor Haruno Sakura/Maedhros | Maitimo, Monsters, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Overprotective, POV Haruno Sakura, POV Third Person, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Haruno Sakura, Second Age, Sharingan, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Stockholm Syndrome, Strong Haruno Sakura, Uchiha!Sakura, Unhealthy Relationships, Work In Progress, i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27442561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdamnuchiha/pseuds/thatdamnuchiha
Summary: There’s such a thing as having too much strength.She came to that land from another, torn from her homeland and cast into a world where the standards of strength are that much lower. Before she was strong, but there she is something unearthly – something to be feared. Monster, they call her until she knows nothing more than that title bestowed upon her. She was human once in the world before, but there she is not.Times continues to tick onwards, death eludes her ever still, and the lands she roams creep ever closer to disaster. The world is on the precipice of another war, and then men and elves come, seeking a weapon from an age passed. There is a choice to be made, a war to win, and an enemy to defeat.She needs to choose.Will she let the battle she loves pass her by and cling to the fragile shell of humanity she hides in? Or will she embrace the name she earned and go to war again, casting away any hope of an ordinary life?The scars upon her run deep, memories of torment resurfacing, her feelings for the one who made her that way left in a confusing tangle. She was whole once, before everything, but now she’s not.Tell me, do you know what it’s like to be unmade?
Relationships: Elendil the Tall & Haruno Sakura, Ereinion Gil-galad & Haruno Sakura, Glorfindel (Tolkien) & Haruno Sakura, Glorfindel (Tolkien)/Haruno Sakura, Haruno Sakura & Maedhros | Maitimo, Haruno Sakura & Original Character(s), Isildur (Tolkien) & Haruno Sakura, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Series: Children of War [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887193
Comments: 22
Kudos: 183





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again,
> 
> This is a furlough baby, I guess, and it's another work with the pairing which is constantly eating my brain. This time around though I rather wanted to do something different. 'tis also my first work with the 'Explicit' rating on it, which I guess is kind of scary, but that's there because I have a feeling things are going to get darker and more bloodied than before - in case the tags didn't give it away. There's no sexual content in this - or at least I don't think there'll be anything described in racy detail if parts go near that territory (and yes, I feel the need to clarify, because I feel like half the time the Explicit Rating is mostly for sex-y stuff rather than completely bloodied violence). It's also the work in which I try to explore things which are rather hard for me to write. Such as elves being complete and utter d**ks at times, which is surprisingly hard for me to write because I rather like to see the best in people. So this is going to be a bit of an adventure for me, and hopefully for you all too!
> 
> I feel I should point out that the 'Stockholm Syndrome' tag does not really apply to the main pairing here, in case you were worried. I endeavour to write healthy-ish relationships for the win, though that might not be necessarily true in this case here. Sakura might have jumped off the deep end just a little bit. Because for some reason I love making her do things which her canon persona wouldn't do, because I have a love-hate relationship with what became of Sakura in canon.
> 
> Be prepared for occasional updates, since that's always what happens with all of my works. Though I'm sure I'll finish all my stories eventually. I'll try not to keep you waiting too long.
> 
> The title of this work is to do with the flowers 'love-lies-bleeding' rather than the funeral song in my mind, because in the Victorian Language of Flowers, this particular flower stands for hoplessness or hopeless love as far as I'm aware. You'll probably get why I called it this after the first chapter, or at least have some hints, or so I hope.
> 
> Happy Reading!

The memories came and went, dancing in and out of clarity as she lay there, back against the thick, rich grass which swayed to and fro in the gentle night winds. Black hair pooled around her head like an inky curtain, consuming the soft silvery light of the moon which hung in the sky. Her eyes were just as dark, she knew, and even if she forgot, there was a relatively still lake not too far away. Its shimmering surface always allowed her to marvel at her reflection and how odd it was compared to all that was around her. She looked nothing like the locals there, nor did she act like them, and it showed in her every, unthinking move.

Though the fact of the matter was that she wasn’t one of them, and there was an inexplicable rift between her and the folk of those lands which meant she preferred the company of beast and forest. _Even if most of the creatures attempted to eat her more often than not, and the few which weren’t so inclined shied away from her._ The birds, she had found, were likely the friendliest, and she found if she sat still for too long there were a few who would wind up seeing her as a substitute for a branch.

Well so long as she didn’t wind up using something called _Killing Intent_ made up of her sheer intent to end the life of something – a thing she was particularly good at in those lands especially – and the strange energy she possessed. _Chakra,_ she could distantly remember it being called in the few scarce memories she still possessed of times before she had wound up in those strange lands under stranger skies.

_Before him, and all the confusion, pain, hatred, and the twisted love he had wrought from her._ She was supposed to hate him, and yet part of her clung so desperately to those memories of a time thousands of years before then. She sighed then, frustration raging about inside her as she mused on the disparity between the memories of different stars and the ones brought upon by those new ones.

She would never be able to return to those now strange skies – what with having existed under the others for so much longer, until the memories of those other stars were that much more faded and patchy. Dimly, she could remember golden hair, blue eyes, and whiskered cheeks stretched in a wide, beaming smile. There were also the memories of a dark-haired, dark-eyed individual. Her heart often panged strangely with a fondness she couldn’t quite place upon the thought of that figure so similar now to her own. Her finger wound a lock of inky black hair around her finger, and she brought it in front of her face. The memories of pink locks were there, in place of her black ones, but she supposed she had the strange shadows she had fallen into to blame for that. Her eyes were the only thing she remembered as being the same.

Black had always been her colour there, and they had spun red always, like the dark-haired and other dark-eyed figure. _Family._ But her family was forever lost to her, now and forever. She was alone, and she rather doubted it would ever change. That was about as much as she knew from her patchy memories. Rarely had she used her red eyes in that world before, and the red-eyed memories were always the ones she remembered the best. There was a clarity about them which none of her other memories possessed.

She couldn’t even remember her name in those other lands, and part of her felt strangely empty at that fact. _Like she had lost something which couldn’t be replaced._ Indeed, she wasn’t sure what to call herself anymore in all of those many strange tongues she had learnt. The languages which belonged to those who lived under the same stars which she currently did. They didn’t feel right coming from her lips. But she couldn’t remember any other tongue than those belonging to that world there, and that made her feel even more lost – as though she were cast adrift with no anchor.

_Moriel._ That was a name she wouldn’t use. Not with the complexity of her feelings towards the one who had granted that name to her. _The one who had shackled her. The one who had preyed on her talents for bringing death and blood in her wake. The one who had made her care for him in some sick and twisted way._ He had been the only company she had after years of isolation – the only one permitted to enter the prison she had been kept in for those first few years.

_“Beasts can be broken,”_ his words echoed in her mind always, haunting her even to that very day however many thousands of years later. That was what she was there – a _beast,_ a _monster_ – something to be tamed and used however her owner sought fit. She only had one owner, even as dead as he was, and though she hated the mention of him, she hated the warm feelings some small part of her held even more. _Because he was the first one who really spoke to her in those lands, even if he had done so with her chained up and blinded like the monster she was. He had given her food and shelter, and a reason to exist there._

She hated him so, so very much.

She loved him so, so very much.

So she refused to be called _Moriel_ which was a rather unfortunately fitting name for her. A simple name, like one gave a pet. It might have been the same as a dog being called Blackie or something of that likeness. She was dark in colouring – regarding her hair and eyes that was. Her skin was horribly pale, and it sooner burnt than tanned. It was something which had changed from _before,_ and it was something which only added to the differences between her and the local folk. Some of them were so very pale, others tanned from working the fields, and yet there was a difference there between their skin which she couldn’t quite place.

Unearthly. That was the word she would use to describe it. Her skin seemed that much smoother, without freckle nor blemish, and it looked a bit more solid. Enough for it to be unnatural. Enough for it to look eerily perfect in a way she had still yet to come to terms with. The only reason it hadn’t bothered her much before was due to the fact her _master_ and his people had been eerily similar to her in that regard.

That had no impact on her name though, and she wasn’t sure why she thought it might have. She didn’t want to be called anything _perfect._ It brought bad memories to the surface, ones which had been seen and stored with her red eyes.

_Edhelwen._ Similarly, that was yet another name she didn’t want to be called, even if the people who had called her that brought no ill memories or feelings to the forefront of her mind. She had precious few memories of elves which didn’t make her want to scream or throw a fit. _Though that was a lie. Or was it?_ There were a few memories which she looked on fondly, and she hated herself for it, because of what they had taken from her.

They had taken too much. She didn’t want to be reminded of that fact every time someone called her name, so that name wasn’t to be. Which meant making up a name of her own. She wasn’t in the same position as before – when she had barely understood a word. Rather, she knew the language and the basic naming conventions, meaning she would be able to give herself a name which fit fairly well.

Though she wasn’t quite sure what to base the root of her name on. She liked birds, yes, but names with those sorts of root didn’t feel right. They didn’t feel like her. Sitting up, she glanced at the trees and the moon above, but those sorts of names based upon them didn’t feel too right either, and frustration welled up inside her belly as she amused herself with the many names she tried to fit herself with. Briefly, she wondered why she had decided to name herself then and there, a pit of unease opening up within her stomach as she mulled on the _whys_ for a few minutes or so. Closing her eyes, she sighed softly, listening to the rustle of the wind above her, feeling its cold touch, and memories sprung to life.

A biting wind, a blanket beneath her feet, dark brown trunks of strange trees which didn’t have leaves. Rather they had blossoms. Pink flowers. Pink petals which fell loose when a strong breeze buffeted them.

_Lothien._

The name felt eerily right.

* * *

Her name would be Lothien. That was what she had decided upon. “Lothien,” she murmured aloud as she sometimes did, though she was usually serenading the sparrows if she did as such. It didn’t do any good to stop speaking for long periods of time – otherwise that only impaired her own communication abilities, and she needed those not to be subpar whenever she ventured near towns or otherwise encountered groups of people roaming those wilds. She hardly wanted to be mistaken for a bandit, and for people to attempt to deal with her as one. That wouldn’t end well. For everyone barring her, that was.

There was such a thing as having _too much_ strength. There was such a thing as a monster in the guise of a human being. Lothien knew that all too well.

Smiling, she curled up into a ball, simply basking underneath the sun’s light as it sailed across the sky oh so slowly. She liked having a name that was all her own, and it filled her with an odd happiness of sorts. _Lothien._ She was Lothien now, not Moriel or Edhelwen. It was a name she had come up with herself, and it separated her from her past. More so than saying either of her other names, long ago as they had been used. _Long ago enough that most would have forgotten their significance, if they had heard of it at all._

Dimly, she wondered if the elves had records of her existence – though hers had undoubtedly been covered in mystery. She had preferred to conceal herself amongst them as best as possible, a snake in the long grass, so none knew who _the monster_ was. Up until they were fighting the enemy that was. Then who _the monster_ was became so blindingly obvious, though none could afford to pay her too much attention while their lives were on the line. Most preferred to worry over their own lives than the monster slicing their way through the enemy’s lines. It hadn’t mattered to most, so long as her actions benefitted and helped them.

Though she hadn’t had any contact with the elves left on that side of the sea for a long while, and that, Lothien mused, was probably how she would like to keep it. Elves weren’t always kind and helpful. She had learnt that the hard way. Though perhaps if she had been ordinary – if she had truly been one of the secondborn – they might have been kinder to her, what with how the houses of men had been accepted by the Noldor. She was an existence outside of that though, and she hadn’t reacted well when the Noldor had originally found her.

So perhaps the actions he had taken were just. Lothien hated the part of her that thought that, but she was so very torn, and there had been no proper conversation between them before her master had… Lothien closed her eyes, sighing quietly, kicking at the dirt in annoyance as she thought about the one who had put the shackles on her. _And taken the only key to unlock one of his and his brother’s greatest works to his grave._ His grave was somewhere which could no longer be reached, not that it had been particularly accessible before. Now, buried under how many gallons of water, it would be impossible to reclaim. If there was anything left that was.

She would never be free of the shackles emblazoned with her master’s mark. They defined her, and part of her still clung to them, as though she were a dog chasing any scrap of affection from her master. She knew he would want her to wear them still. They were a proof that he had tamed her, made her his weapon, his monster. _And she had been called as such._

Her hands curled in her hair, fingers twitching and arching as she fought against the tide of emotions which wanted to rise at the vivid memories she had of him. Nails ghosted over her neck, and she could still feel the phantom tugs from the collar she had once worn. It was gone, thankfully, having been made of leather and not locked as her metal shackles were. Those had been for the purpose of truly restraining her when necessary. The collar on the other hand… That had merely been a status symbol which made it all too obvious who was the master and who was the monster.

Eyes burning red as they had been so often back then, Lothien snarled, hating the mixed feelings within her – despising the part of her which simpered whenever she thought of those _grey-grey_ eyes which had bored into her so often with the intensity of a looming thundercloud before the storm came. “I hate you,” she whispered, remembering the way she had been brought under control whenever she threatened to snap and hurt them. The bite of the collar against her skin was something she couldn’t quite forget, no matter how much she wished to. Fingers raked through her silky black hair, and Lothien cried as she remembered that warm hand in her hair – something which had been conditioned to be viewed as a reward – and the whisper of those words, _“Good girl.”_ She knew her preening at those words had been conditioned into her. She knew that, and yet somehow she couldn’t bring herself to break it. _Oh, how she longed to have her hair ruffled again, along with those grey eyes gleaming down at her in victory._ “I love you,” she muttered, thinking of those warm grey eyes and that hand tracing her jawline, tears of frustration and sorrow leaking down her cheeks.

An owl hooted, breaking the silence around her, and she struggled to pull herself free from those intoxicating memories. The ones she hated and loved, the ones she wanted to drown and yet wrap herself up within. She wanted to go back to those days, but she didn’t. She wasn’t supposed to simply accept that treatment, _was she?_

_“You should not deny your wishes so,”_ his voice whispered in her ear, and her fingers dug into warm earth. They curled into a fist, and she punched the earth, careful not to ruin part of her garden so. That was what she called the forest that she lived in – her garden. It was meant to be a peaceful place, free from any sorts of triggers which might make her embrace the creature she had once been. The monster which lurked beneath the human façade she wore. _Because it was just a façade by that point._ Once, she might have thought herself human – akin to the secondborn – but she had irrefutable proof she was not.

Her stomach grumbled weakly, reminding herself she needed to hunt, or break into her stores for winter. The latter was something she ought not to do, but her metabolism wasn’t exactly what it had once been. She could survive for long periods without consuming anything. She could subsist on chakra and chakra alone. The rules of its use were ever so slightly altered in that world she had found herself in. Truly, it hadn’t taken her too long to figure them out – to theorise the reasons behind the changes, the main culprit being the fact that the nature chakra substitute there interacted with her own chakra strangely. She hadn’t been diminished by entering that world. Rather she had quickly become strong – stronger than any being had any rights being in that place.

It was funny how she had once longed to be so very strong, and she only regretted it when her wish was granted. She longed for battle, for strong opponents. She gained some sick joy of feeling the blood of her enemies spatter across her face, until she was drenched in the blood of her fallen foes. She had worn blood like battle armour, and smiled in the face of terror, knowing it all the while couldn’t kill her. She had thought that something to be proud of, until recently that was. _Given there was no master there to pat her head and tell her ‘Well Done’._

She missed him.

There was always an ache in her heart whenever she thought of him. She hated it. She hated the fact she could never push him far from her mind. _Perhaps because he was the one who had ultimately made her what she was to that very day._

* * *

Lothien was lost.

Not in the forest she had lived for hundreds of years – that was practically impossible. Rather, she felt adrift emotionally, and there was a stirring in the back of her mind as days rolled by, and the underlying tension and anticipation which curled in her limbs only grew. She didn’t quite understand it. _Why was that happening to her?_

Likely, it had something to do with the dreams she had been receiving – of men and elves preparing for war. Those dreams weren’t born from her memories of years long passed though. She could feel an energy that wasn’t her own interwoven with them, a warm, feminine voice whispering in her ear about a choice to come whenever she ventured to one of the rivers which flowed through her home. _A choice for what?_

Time passed by as it always did, Lothien remaining utterly unaffected by it as always, her thoughts spiralling about what might be coming her way. The sun and moon drifted overhead, wandering through the sky like clockwork, birds singing to sunrise and sunset, the rivers flowing as they always did, and destiny walked towards her ever so slowly in the hands of men and elves, and the war they wished to wage.


	2. Company

Peering down from her perch, Lothien frowned down at the creatures running amok through _her_ forest. It had become just that – _hers_ – thanks to her long occupation of her garden. She doubted anyone would contest her claim, not the least because no one would want to fight against a monster such as herself. _“Such vile creatures,”_ his voice whispered in her ear then, all the while urging her to give into her urges and slaughter the lot of them. _“Why not rid them of this plane?”_ Her hands twitched with a barely controlled temptation.

Truly, the grey-skinned monstrosities bred by Morgoth, and then Sauron were pathetically weak. Wind rustled through the trees then, and Lothien tilted her head and didn’t make a single sound. She was a hunter, and those were silent when stalking possible prey. Of course, if _he_ had truly been alive still, they wouldn’t have been mere _possible_ prey. She would have already killed them all and returned to her master so he could pat her head and tell her, _“Well done.”_ Her heart ached then, and her teeth gritted together at the thought of wanting her _master_. _Or any master really._ It was so very lonely without one.

Lothien despised herself for such thoughts. She was so terribly contradictory. It was meant to be a human trait, but she was a monster. _It was so terribly difficult to understand._ Her master had never told her of what a monster was like, only that she was one. She was hardly human. There was plenty of proof to support that. Her eyes closed then, and she continued tracking the orcs with her remaining senses.

The dull, muted crunch of footsteps upon white snow was so very audible to her sharp ears, and she could probably track them with just that. She had lived for thousands of years by then, and though her body was unchanged, her skills had only developed and improved. There was no denying her skillset was geared towards anything other than hunting and killing. She was so much better at it than any other creature there, and she had been unduly feared because of it in the First Age. _That was what they had called that era, wasn’t it?_

It had been _hell_ on earth, or so many had described it as, and the elves had been terribly tight-lipped on the subject of everything that had gone on during that period. Lothien was only grateful she had never been forced to participating in the kinslayings. Otherwise the survivors might have tried to hunt her down and kill her. Dimly, she wondered if anyone was capable of that. Even a maia hadn’t managed, though they had made a very good attempt at doing such. It just hadn’t been enough. Not even fire had done anything to stop her all too fast healing process. Her fingers drifted to her forehead as the orcs passed below, and distantly, she noted how very many there were. _That many, even of those weak creatures, might make for an interesting fight._ Her lips pulled back, teeth bared in a grin as the urge to slaughter them all _as she had been conditioned to_ rising once more.

Her eyes snapped back open, a growl rumbling low in her chest, fingers tightening their grip on the bark she sat atop. A spiderweb of cracks emerged on the bark beneath her fingertips, eyes itching with the _want_ for _chakra._ They wanted to spin red and take in the slow and predicated movements of a fight. She wanted to feel the splatter of blood warm and wet against her cheeks. She wanted to feel the crunch of bone and skin under her fists as chests gave out and crumpled inwards under her heavy blows. She wanted to feel the rush of adrenaline pulsing through her veins as she raced around the battleground, slaughtering every enemy in sight.

_“So stop holding yourself back,”_ his voice whispered, like a little devil set upon her shoulder. _“Filth like that only taint the earth so.”_ She could almost feel his lips on her ear, and her fingers lifted to curl and crumple the tunic she wore. Longing and loss always haunted her, no matter how she hated and loved it so.

Sighing softly, orcs gone and out of sight, she relaxed back against the thick tree branch upon which she sat. Lothien lifted her wrist, staring at the design upon her shackle, rubbing her cheek against the cool metal. “You are gone,” she whispered, mindful of the fact she had seen far too many packs of orcs roaming within her forest as of late. If one attacked her, the noise of her slaughtering them would probably bring all of them down on her head.

Lothien didn’t particularly want to lose the vaguely human shell she had been holding to for the last however many hundreds of years. _“Why do deny yourself so, little monster?”_ She hugged her knees then, chakra sticking her to the tree out of instinct and practice as the wind buffeted her about that much stronger. _“It is not meant for you to deny your true nature so… No matter how you hold yourself, when faced with battle you will always long to taste the bitter blood which is always shed within that battlefield.”_

“Silence,” she murmured, for all the good that did. Her master was dead, and yet some part of her clung so tightly to him that she could still hear a mockery of his words in her ear. She only wished it were a little more real and could pat her head alongside telling her that she was a _good girl_ who had done what he had asked of her so very _wonderfully._

_“I hardly need to listen to the orders of my dog, do I?”_ he purred, and Lothien winced at the vivid memory of the collar biting at the skin of her neck as her face was forced to the ground by a booted foot. _“Oh, little monster, you have yet to learn…”_

She shivered then, remembering how she had curled into him after being let up, remembering that familiar hand in her hair. “Sorry,” she said softly, eyes downcast as they had been back when her master was alive and well. _She wished he still was._ She felt so very lost without him still, and not even her wandering had given her purpose. She hungered for one still, in that confusing land, with her ever so confusing life.

Dimly, she wondered _why_ she had ended there. It was a question which oftentimes haunted her when she buried herself in her thoughts. She pondered on whether she might have forgotten as the years rolled by. _“You are to help the Noldor,”_ he said, words lighting her life then, reminding her of the orders she didn’t want to follow. _Reminding her of the purpose he had once given to her so very long ago._ She loved him for it – giving her monstrous existence meaning. Giving her unnaturalness a reason to have come to that place, and those strange stars which looked down on her so. _“You are to help me.”_ She could still remember the way he had made her look into his _grey-grey_ eyes in that moment. They had been like a raging storm, the colours moving, changing – darkening, and his stormy eyes always darkened when angered. She could remember snuggling up to him when he was like that, thin yet well-muscled arms wrapped around him as he lay back on the settee. Even then she could still feel his fingers as they stroked the hair around her ears. The shape had been somewhat unnatural to him, what with his and his kin’s pointed ones which had fascinated her so.

“But you are _dead_ ,” she whispered, tears biting at the corners of her eyes. “You _left_ me,” she muttered accusingly, part of her questioning _why_ she was speaking aloud to someone who wasn’t there.

There was no answer to that, and Lothien was left to sulk in her own thoughts as she rested her head atop her knees and stared out at the snowy world. She could barely feel the cold, what with her chakra moving almost on instinct by that point. _Those were monstrous by that point in time._ Even with her lack of battle in the last hundreds of years, her instincts hadn’t dulled. Whether her fighting abilities had grown rusty was another matter entirely though, and she mused over whether – if she did indeed fight the orcs there – whether they might injure her.

Pain was something she had not felt in a long time – physical pain that was. She had almost forgotten its stinging kiss, and part of her felt as though she wanted to feel it once more. Pain, especially the physical kind, was a nice reminder that she was alive. That she felt. That she could enjoy battle. _She wondered why a wild-haired man with the inky black eyes which spun red of her family came to mind then._ Memories of those old stars were scarce indeed, so he was probably someone of importance. Her own hair was silky and straight, a warm blanket against her back. She rolled a lock of her bluish black hair around her finger, a soft sigh escaping her as she remembered her master braiding it into pretty patterns.

_“Such a waste,”_ he had often said while playing about with her black locks. No elf had colouring like that. Their hair could be dark, but not the shade of black which hers reached. _“Like the midnight sky above.”_ Those were his words to describe it. She liked them so. _He had been so very nice to her, unsightly as she often was, with blood and viscera painted on her like a canvas of war._

But she didn’t want to linger on those thoughts any longer. Reminiscing only made her feel that much more detached from the world around her. _That much more empty as she thought of all that she was missing._ Patting her cheeks, she stood up, bare feet coated in a thick layer of chakra, keeping her feet uninjured from the tree walking she did. _Splinters and cuts were not things she wanted on her feet._ Though the soles of her feet – just her feet in general, actually – were terribly tough. They had to be, what with the force behind her kicks.

Shoes and boots only burst off her feet, shredded to pieces, when she kicked heads clean off. The materials in that world did not often take to chakra reinforcements very well. Metal was best, her shackles included, but should she try to clad anything bar that, then the objects and items usually exploded, shredded, or otherwise ruined themselves in varying ways.

Yawning, Lothien wiggled her bare, warm toes eyes flickering between the moving limbs and the clear tracks made by the orcs upon the winter wonderland below. “Now,” she murmured, moving across the branch with nary a sound, jumping across to the next tree just as silently. “Let me see what you might be up to,” she said, soundlessly following, and then overtaking the orcs, moving higher up into the branches to further reduce the chances of her being spotted and foolishly mistaken for dinner.

_Orcs feared red eyes for a reason._ A smile curled at her lips at that thought. _She had instilled that into them._ A mirthless chuckle slipped from her throat, and Lothien barely resisted the urge to reveal herself and slaughter them all. It was like an itch, a terrible itch, one which needed to be scratched. Lothien only wondered when her self-control would snap and turn her into a mindless creature which lusted for battle once more.

_“You look so very pretty dressed in blood.”_

Lothien smiled. “Thank you,” she said, chest feeling terribly fuzzy and warm at the compliment. Her ears strained past the muted thuds of the orc’s footsteps – that too eventually dying away as she flitted through the trees, covering days’ worth of walking for a person without her skillset. She remembered when the forest had been that much smaller. _When it risked being cut down by one of the nearby human settlements which had then moved on by that point in time._ Perhaps, had she not been there, the forest wouldn’t have been as big as it had, or even possibly existed. But she was there, and that was all that really mattered to her when everything boiled down to it.

She was there. Alive. _Her master wasn’t._ That was something to be ashamed of – in her mind, at least. But she hadn’t been able to disobey him in the end, hadn’t been able to stop him, and her heart was constantly mourning his loss. _No matter how much she told herself she hated him so._ Her running came to a halt then, and she paused perhaps a day’s walk for an ordinary person from the eaves of the forest. _She could clear it in five or ten minutes, depending on how fast she wanted to be._ But it was there that she caught sight of _them_.

Humans.

Her eyes narrowed but didn’t dare spin red as she scouted them from a relatively safe distance behind them. _Because there weren’t just humans in that group climbing up the hill._ No. Her eyes narrowed even further, hatred and longing stirring up in her chest as she stared at the mixed group of men and elves. _Master’s people._ Her fingers twitched, longing rising up within her as she remembered those words. _“You serve the Noldor.”_ They were dark-haired, opted for sword and shield more often than bow and arrow, and they smelt somewhat similar to those base scents she remembered from the First Age dimly. _They didn’t smell of sea salt and winter breeze._ They smelt like home. They were Noldor, and she was bound to protect them.

At least that would be his wish, she knew.

_“Let no harm come to them,”_ her master’s voice echoed on the breeze which swept down to greet her as she followed after them ever so slowly. _“You owe them that much – to not let any more of my people’s blood spill what with how you spilled enough before I made you mine.”_

Memories of that cold cell, _the loneliness and emptiness_ , came to her then, and she wrapped her arms around herself as though it would make a difference. _She wanted his arms around her instead, and those warm hands to pet at her head when she lay atop him, listening to that steady heartbeat of his._

Branches remained motionless beneath her ever so light steps. She was as fleetfooted as the elves by then, having taught herself a long time ago how to walk over things without leaving a trace whenever she so desired. Though that was more instinctual behaviour by then, what with her having lived evading the eyes and ears of others for so very long.

Her body moved on instinct, hunkering behind the tree and out of sight of the group of men and elves, and Lothien quieted her breathing, letting herself blend in with the trees and wind as it howled ever so gently. Clouds loomed overhead, promising a coming storm, and wisely, Lothien didn’t think of those grey eyes she so loved. _Not the least because there were a pair of brighter grey eyes scanning the trees and bushes about where she stood, risking a peek towards the group she had found herself transfixed by._

Rare, had it been, especially over the last couple of hundreds of years, for her to see men. She hadn’t seen elves – not Noldor at the very least – for a good while longer. Their beauty nearly knocked the breath from her, as did the surge of _want_ and the part of her which made grabby hands at them. _“Why not introduce yourself then?”_ her master’s echo asked, and Lothien shook her head viciously, eyeing the sharp elf who might nearly have cottoned on to her presence there. It was an impressive feat, given how she was a master of concealing her very existence. That was something which had been drilled into her under different stars. Lothien wondered why that was so. _What had her role there been?_ The memories were too fuzzy, and she only sighed as she turned her full attention back onto the group before her, eyeing up the one still scanning the trees. Her eyes wanted to flash red, memorise his pretty face for certain so she could find out _why_ he was so much more sensitive to what could only be her presence. _But the colour red, the glowing crimson her irises turned, was very much out of place in the white, green, and brown forest._ Lothien didn’t particularly want to make it easier for the elf to consolidate her existence and subsequent stalking of their group. _For protection purposes,_ or so her mind whispered to her, driven by her master’s instructions which she loved to hate all too often.

His colouring wasn’t typical of a Noldor. _Though neither had her master’s, but he had been a Noldor through and through._ Rather than the dark hair, or the red locks she had loved so very much, the elf which had caught her focus had hair the colour of gold. If someone told her his hair had been spun of gold, Lothien would have believed them, bright in colour and rich as it was. It was so very lovely and suited him so as bright as he seemed, a beacon of light _and hope,_ her mind whispered. His eyes were a terribly bright grey, lighter than her master’s, but Lothien was oh so very grateful for that solely because it reduced her thoughts on her missing, long dead master. She didn’t want her thoughts to linger on that when her curiosity was stoked. Rarely did she grow interested in things, especially people. Though Lothien supposed her lacking interest in people might have been more to do with men and their mortality. Their lives were barely a blink compared to hers. She could dimly remember a time before the sun had risen there, and that was so very long ago. _Before the Noldor had returned to Arda._

Lothien ducked back behind the tree then, having seen enough of his pretty face, having felt the longing for interacting with her master’s people once more. She had been so terribly lonely. _Maybe that was why she always heard her master’s voice?_ That had certainly made the loneliness that much less encompassing. _But his voice was no substitute for a real living person._

With that in mind, she lingered there for a while longer, mind made up to follow them. _Because the forests were infested with orcs, and Lothien knew if they encountered them, there was very little doubt that she would shed the feeble shell of humanity she clung to._ Her master’s orders and her love of battle would make it much harder to control herself.

Lothien didn’t quite know if she wanted that control.

She didn’t think she wanted to be a monster either, memories of that whiskered blonde man stirring in her mind – in fact, she really rather wanted to belong somewhere. _Like at her master’s side, in the place he had made for her there._ But the fact remained that she was a monster in the eyes of others, what with her belonging to neither kindred of Eru’s children, and it was terribly hard for her to belong anywhere thanks to that fact.


	3. Followed

Lothien kept up her _observations_ of the fellows who had entered into _her_ forest for a good while longer. She wouldn’t say she was obsessed with them – merely curious as to whether they were fools who had stumbled into an orc-infested forest, or whether they were there with purpose. Truly, Lothien had nothing else to do other than stare at the stars or sneak about in her own home as the numbers of orcs swelled. _Lest she lose herself to battle as she had so often done before._

_“Enough!”_ his voice snarled in her ear then as she eyed up the many intruders in her place of solace and sanctuary. _“Fall back!”_

Even to that very day she remembered his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her away despite her struggles to get back to massacring the enemy. She remembered the bite of her collar as he clipped her lead to it and _pulled_. The feeling of being strangled by it was terribly good at getting her attention. Sighing softly, she remembered riding on his horse, bundled up in his arms all dirty and bloody. _She could still remember the feeling of many grey eyes fixed upon her small form._ On most elves she came up to their shoulders at most, but she had been so very much shorter than her master. _He had been known as ‘tall’ amongst his kin._ Maybe that had been the reason he had picked her up so very easily and often. His arms had been so very warm.

She missed him so very bitterly. _Well, aside from when she remembered she was supposed to hate him._ Really, Lothien despised her contradictory nature in that regard. It made it so very difficult to hate him – to hate the elves she had fought for so very long ago.

_“Good girl,”_ he whispered, and Lothien only curled up like a content cat in the branches of her tree as she mulled over what it was the orcs, men, and elves were all doing. _She hadn’t heard of another war brewing._ Though then again, she had secluded herself away in that forest for a long while. She had almost forgotten what the places beyond her forest looked like. _Though she could never forget her beloved master or his people._

That in mind, she tore her attention away from the orcs and their meagre camp, _along with their disgusting cannibalistic nature when no other food source was readily available._ Her master was so very correct. _“Filthy creatures.”_ Lothien nodded in agreement, silently bounding through the treetops as quickly and silently as she could. _She wanted to see her master’s kin again._ It was something of an addictive sensation – to spy on the men and elves. _More so because they had that sharp golden-haired elf who had cottoned on to her presence there._

It was such a toe-curling rush whenever she was on the verge of being spotted by those bright grey eyes. The only other one who had been so very attuned to her presence had been her master himself. _She missed him. She missed the fond, amused look in his eyes when he sensed her clinging to the ceiling. She missed the startled looks of surprises all his brothers had given her when her master pointed her presence out. She missed curling up in her master’s lap and relaxing as that familiar hand came up to smooth her inky black locks._ Lothien sighed, fire burning in her belly at those thoughts. She had _wanted_ something more, yet now she hated those moments. _When she wasn’t busy wishing she could still have them, that was._

Running towards the spot she had last seen them a matter of hours ago, she scanned for tracks which she could follow. Sharp as her eyes were, it didn’t take particularly long for her to find them. Though she was so very cautious when following her, because _once again,_ they had that sharp-eyed elf and Lothien didn’t particularly want to be discovered. _Not yet,_ the melodic, feminine voice whispered to her when she passed by a river. _Wait._

_“You have to protect them,”_ her master whispered in her ear, and Lothien nodded yet again. She was far too used to obeying orders from him. Though admittedly she had been a bit disobedient to that echo of her master as of late. Because she hated and loved him in equal measures, and it was often a toss up as to which mood she would be in. _“You know of the dangers they may yet face, and it would be so very wrong of you not to either warn them or protect them so, little monster.”_

Lothien stared down at the ground, silently hopping from tree to tree with such stealth and grace. _It truly was unearthly how very quiet she could be, even when compared to the silence and grace of the elves._ “Protect,” she murmured, tasting the word on the air, wondering whether she would truly be capable of looking after the forest’s newest inhabitants. _Because she had lived so very long wearing the harmless mask she had – and to remove that would remove any chance of a normal life._ Because then they would remember her and the monster she was. Lothien wasn’t quite sure whether any of them would allow her to live in the peace she longed for – that which she clung to right then and there.

_“Well, monsters are best kept on leads – close at hand and under control,”_ her master whispered, and Lothien nodded. _That did make so very much sense._ Nobody liked a loose cannon out there. Better for it to be reined in and controlled. _Like master had done once he learned of her existence there._

Silently, she walked on, her breath catching in her throat as she heard the sounds of conversation from up ahead. She wondered what it would be like to talk to another after so very long. Talking to sparrows and other birds only did so much for her conversational abilities. It had been so very long since she’d had a proper conversation aside from her answering the ghost of her master which lingered over her like a shadow. _Though he was truly in the Halls of Mandos by then, and Lothien knew she would never be able to join him there._ “How goes the search?” a masculine voice echoed, and Lothien was abruptly reminded it would likely be mostly men in the scouting party – or whatever the small group’s purpose was. _Unless there were any elleth in the company._ But from the barest glimpse at them all, she couldn’t see any. Though since they were travelling with _men_ … perhaps that was why. If only to avoid preconceptions.

Elves did, after all, have a tendency to stick to their own. The lives of men were so very short compared to their own. _Compared to Lothien’s own._ It was why she had been kept – why she could be kept by elves without her use fading away due to the weakness and frailty which came with the age of mortals. Yet she was so very short compared to the rest of the inhabitants there, especially elves. _Though she supposed some of the villages she had chanced upon a while back had those of a similar height._ These men and elves though? She would be lucky to come up past their shoulders.

Maybe that was why she was so eager to hang back. _It had been far too long since she had been surrounded by those taller than her, and it would likely bring up far too many bitter memories._ Ones which she agonised over far too much. Her lip curled, and Lothien missed everything she had once had amidst the blood, death, and violence of the First Age.

“We have no clues as to what it is we’re searching for!” one of the men cried out at that. Interested, Lothien peered down at the gathering, eyes flickering red as she sought to see what they were gathered around with such interest.

Hesitantly, she edged forwards, keeping the golden-haired elf in her sights at all times – he was the one she was most worried about uncovering her existence there. Though by that point he was conferring with another elf, a brunette, Lothien vaguely made a note of that fact before her attention was otherwise occupied by what it was the men were doing. It was a map they were fussing over, she realised, and she only angled her head to better try and read some of the words, pushing the memory of learning letters with her master – and all the wonderful head pats which had accompanied those lessons – to one side. Those were memories better left boxed away, especially when spying on elves thousands of years later.

“Well those elves did say it was something from the _First Age_ we’re all looking for,” another said, and Lothien leant forwards at those particular words, curiosity stirred. Her curiosity was such a very fickle thing, and she had little to stir her own what with confining herself to that forest for so very long. But that was something which couldn’t be helped. She did, after all, try to keep herself away from triggers which would set off her bloodlust and hunger for battle. _For that rush of adrenaline which made her feel alive._ The world often felt so very distant otherwise, and she knew part of her would forever hunger for war and battle. If she was honest, _it scared her._ To think she might forever be searching for battle, that she might merely become a demon of war unable to accomplish anything other than claiming life. _Because people would undoubtedly try to kill her then, if all she were was a harbinger of war and death._

Lothien didn’t want that, so shutting herself away in the forest it was. That had been her goal until they had come – the orcs, the men, and the elves. Her curiosity was stoked, like the embers of a fire reignited. She wanted to know _why._ Why they had come… What they were there for… _and whether she would be able to kill every orc within her homeland after they were gone…_ She wanted to feel _that_ again, and the urge was growing that much more difficult to resist as time passed by. A grin stole over her face, white teeth appearing from behind her lips, her canine teeth seeming so very sharp as she smiled down at the group. There was little doubt in her mind that the men down there would perhaps know the answers to some of her questions. _But she was hardly going to jump down and introduce herself then._

“They said it would help… if not guarantee our victory in the coming battle,” another man spoke, and Lothien took in the dark, almost black hair of the man. _It was nothing like her own._ Sighing softly with the wind, Lothien rubbed a lock of her own inky hair between her fingers, hating the longing she felt for her master in that instant. _He had been terribly interested in her hair._ The way it resembled the night sky, more so when he found a way to set pretty little gems within her locks for more formal occasions.

“We have years before we set out,” the first man said, and Lothien felt something within her stir at the very thought of war. _Because that was what it sounded like they were venturing off to do._ Lothien played with the idea of offering aid. _But that would merely reveal her as the monster she was, and her history there in that world – how she had been bound to kinslayers, and how she had loved them so, despite the hatred which wanted to burn there in its place._

“Though I would sorely wish not to be stuck in this forsaken forest for too long,” yet another one of their party spoke up. “Even the locals do not venture in here often. They say it _cursed.”_ Lothien tilted her head – that being news to her. _Maybe that was why she had practically never seen anyone in the forest?_ “So tell me how are we meant to find this wretched weapon?”

“We do not have very many clues,” a new voice sounded, and Lothien glanced over to where the golden-haired elf had started speaking. “The few which we know of that it was last seen in the First Age, and that it belonged to Maedhros. Any texts which have information on the matter are… not in the best of states, nevertheless, we have been given our orders, and I do hope we will—”

A flash of silver caught her eye, body moving on instinct as the knife grazed a line on her cheek. Lothien was already moving, vanishing from her perch there, acknowledging that maybe she had grown a little too bold. She had forgotten what elves were like, and that was a rather shameful thing. _“Indeed that would be,”_ her master murmured, and Lothien could only eye up the dark-haired elf who had thrown the knife from her relatively safe perch, eyes spinning from red to black as she all but merged with the trees and foliage around her from a place further away than she had been before.

“What in the blazes are you throwing at?” one of the men demanded, and Lothien raised an eyebrow.

“Lord Glorfindel,” the knife-thrower spoke, staring at the golden-haired one. _So that was his name,_ or so Lothien mused as she stared at the group once more, still oh so very curious about the group now that they had dropped their aim. “I only did as you asked…”

The golden-haired Noldo, _Glorfindel,_ Lothien mentally corrected, only inclined his head. “Retrieve your weapon,” he ordered, not sounding perturbed in the slightest. _Likely because he had already suspected or known of her following of them all_.

Blood, warm and sticky, rolled down from her cheek, flesh already knitting back together as she wiped it off on the band of material concealing one of her arm shackles from the world. _And the damning star set upon it – proof of the master whom she had served._ Lothien resisted the urge to curse at the amateur mistake she had unmistakably made. Though she supposed she was a bit rusty with everything after years and years of hiding. Lothien was only grateful instinct had made her exercise constantly, katas having been completed many a times when the forest was mercifully empty and clear of intrusive life. _Like those of the orcs, the men, and the elves were._ Lothien didn’t know whether she liked it all. _The noise that was. The same kind which made the urge to kill and defeat orcs that much worse._

“I hit whatever it was which lurked there,” the knife-thrower remarked, revealing the trickle of her blood on his blade then.

“An animal of some sorts?” the first man questioned, eyes darting between the elves then.

“Of some description,” Glorfindel remarked. “I noticed the feeling a while earlier – we are being watched. _Followed._ Whether by friend or foe, I know not… though I suspect no friend would conceal themselves so.”

“Whatever it is, it is fast,” the knife-thrower said, cleaning her blood from his small blade. “I barely caught sight of it, hidden amongst the trees as it was, and it dodged my attack in seconds… I do not believe it an enemy to be trifled with… more so because it vanished from my sight before I could even blink.”

“A cursed forest indeed,” one of the men muttered under their breath. “Not only have we found tracks of orcs, but now there is an unknown creature stalking us…”

“Then let us pray we might discover this weapon soon enough,” another said, reminding Lothien of their objective there, and her breath caught in her throat. _Because they were looking for a weapon._ One which had last been seen in the First Age, and also belonged to Maedhros. Her heart thudded in her chest, and Lothien frowned. _Because she knew every inch of that forest and knew there was nothing of her master’s making, nothing her master had owned, within the depths of the trees._

Except her.


	4. Awareness

They were far more alert, Lothien noted, having spent the morning watching them after their discovery of her existence the day previous. Anticipation curled in her gut, sharp eyes watching them curiously as they disassembled their makeshift camp there. She could only watch them for but a little longer, she knew. Then she needed to scout the area around them, and kill off any foes who grew too close.

Those Noldor were _hers_ now, whether they liked it or not. _“That’s right,”_ her master’s ghost whispered, undoubtedly nodding along with her as she kept an eye on the group before her. _“You must protect them.”_

Lothien smiled then, the purpose granted to her making her feel warm and fuzzy inside – at least until the unbidden hatred towards her master stirred once more and sent her into just a touch of misery. _Oh, how she wished her master was there, so she could punch him and then snuggle with him someplace warm and cosy._

“We leave soon!” one of the men called to his compatriots as they packed away, a single one of them standing guard, eyes set upon the forests in which she lurked, and Lothien decided that was probably the best time for her to leave. It was more the elves whom she had to be worried about being discovered by. Men were, on the whole, less perceptive to her presence there. Something she thought she probably ought to be thankful for.

Her feet padded over the bark with nary a sound, and Lothien made her getaway then, hurrying into thicker foliage so no sharp grey eyes spotted her as she circled their dissembling camp in wider and wider circles. Orcs there, were few in number, though there was a terrible stench to the wind blowing from the north. _Something perhaps to be investigated, should her Noldor head that way._ As it was, that bloodthirsty part of her was somewhat sated with slaying the scant few orcs she came across, dragging their bodies out of sight as best she could.

She hardly wanted to leave more proof of her existence there. _“Though they would certainly know you a friend rather than foe if they saw what you do for them,”_ her master’s echo murmured. Lothien only tilted her head, mulling over the possibilities of simply leaving the bodies as they were. They did, after all, have a solid grasp of her existence there.

“They would think that a monster could only do so much slaying,” Lothien said softly, gut curling in anger at the thought of that title. _She didn’t want to be a monster._

_“Oh, but, little monster, that is exactly what you are,”_ her master purred, and Lothien could hear the _smile_ in his voice. The same one she always remembered hearing when she lay atop her master, his fingers carded in her inky black locks. _That,_ Lothien mused, _was something she longed for so very much._ She wanted to be surrounded by that familiar scent – one which whispered to her of war, blood, and death. A scent which lingered only on those of the First Age, those who had fought in those bloody wars, when heroes and monsters had been made.

Heroes.

Lothien wondered why the whiskered blonde from her fuzzy memories _before_ popped up then in the forefront of her mind. Her toes clenched almost reflexively, bark splintering and cracking, the tree beneath creaking as if in angry protest. She stroked the rough, craggy bark then. “Sorry,” she said, giving it one last pat before she leapt from its wooden embrace.

* * *

Days should have passed simply until the group of men and _her_ Noldor left the dangers of her forest – but Lothien was terribly rusty in some aspects, and she had rather underestimated how very quiet men could be, given she had been so very focused on the blonde elf and the knife-throwing elf. Which was how she found herself, on day five of her protective stalking, locking eyes with a very confused man at the riverside.

Lothien tilted her head, acknowledging the man with a slow, feline blink. “Can I help you?” she asked, the words feeling terribly stilted and stiff. There was an odd twitchiness to her limbs as she spoke, part of her desperately crying at her for her to just leave. _To leap up into the trees and escape as quickly as she could_. She hadn’t properly been around others for so long that she was horrifically uncomfortable in such a situation. Lothien supposed that was partially her own fault, what with having separated herself from others, refusing to interact with even random humans, and especially elves.

The man paused, as if to scramble for a form of address for her. _It had been quite a while since she had been referred to by others as anything more than a monster._ “My… My lady?” It sounded more like a question than anything. “How did you come to be here?”

Lothien tilted her head the other way, watching as the man squirmed in his boots. “I walked,” she said, mouth feeling terribly dry as she interacted with the _intruder_ in her garden.

“These forests are crawling with orcs!” he exclaimed, proving they had at least seen a fair few of the corpses she made. _Or maybe they had encountered some the few times she had left her post watching over them for a number of hours?_ Lothien frowned. _Unacceptable._ Clearly, she would have to keep a closer eye on what was hers.

_“Yes,”_ her master murmured in her ear then. _“You must.”_

Lothien nodded. “Indeed,” she said, agreeing with her precious, beloved— _hated_ —master then. She would have to follow them closer and for more hours of the day – which would involve sleeping close by. _Which ran the risk of her being seen and spotted and outed for the monster that she was._ She chewed on her lip then, wondering how exactly she could mitigate that risk—

“My lady… apologies, might I ask for your name, fair maiden?”

Lothien blinked, abruptly reminded she _had_ been spotted right then, no matter how much she longed to vanish into the treetops and bolt away. _Fair maiden?_ She tilted her head, blinking owlishly at the odd words, shifting restlessly on her feet then. _She was a monster._

_“Right you are, little monster,”_ her master whispered, and Lothien shook her head, shuddering then at those words which drew a tangle of confused, complex emotions to the surface of her thoughts in that instant. _The gaping hole in her chest that her master had left her with after he had flung himself into that fiery chasm._

“Lothien,” she said, staring at him then, wondering why he looked so very befuddled. “My name is Lothien,” she repeated, as though saying it again would make it seem any more real.

“Lothien,” the man parroted then, looking at her hesitantly, as though she might think to correct him on something. When she didn’t, he looked relieved for some reason. _Humans were strange._ She wasn’t human anymore.

_“Little monster,”_ her master purred affectionately, and Lothien could feel the ghost of his hand petting her head then. _She wished she could nuzzle into that touch – she wished she could feel it the way she craved._ But he was dead, and she would never find her way to the Halls of Mandos, no matter how hard she tried. She was no human, nor elf. She didn’t really know what she was anymore. _Freak. Aberration. Unnatural. “No, no,”_ her master murmured then. _“You can be a monster, darling,”_ he whispered, voice soft and soothing – a balm to her soul in ways she couldn’t describe. _“That is what you are. That is what you can be, now, and forever.”_

“My name is Nordil,” he said, and Lothien frowned at the Sindarin name. _But those men who had helped her Noldor in the First Age had adopted that language._ The man before her had to be descended of those. Lothien wondered if that made him hers too. _Though less of a priority compared to her Noldor._ “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he continued, and Lothien could only blink blandly as he spoke. “Me and my compatriots have made camp in this forest only a short distance away.”

“And?” Lothien stared at him.

“Er, I was wondering if you would like to join me and my companions – where it will be safer,” he said, and Lothien could feel every hair on her body stand up on end at the offer. _Because it would offer her the chance to ensure none of her Noldor came to harm._ Though it would limit how she could move, more so with so many eyes upon her. “If you do not mind venturing along with us for a little while, I am certain we could escort you to the safety of the nearest village once we have left the bounds of this cursed forest. Surely you have heard the rumours of this place!”

Lothien blinked, silently weighing up the pros and cons of revealing herself to the group. _As if she hadn’t already been revealed._ There was no way the man before her, Nordil, wouldn’t tell those other men and elves of the strange _lady_ he had met in the forest while doing whatever it he was doing. “Very well,” she said, staring at the hand he then offered her curiously. “Were you not sent into this forest for a purpose?” she asked, watching as Nordil blinked blankly once before flushing the colour of a ripened tomato. “Should you not complete such a task?”

“Indeed!” Nordil exclaimed. “Thank you for reminding me, Lothien,” he said, still looking rather uncertain as he called her as he did. Lothien didn’t know _why._ Rather, she thought him an odd duck for that as such. _Was there some need for him to show respect to her?_

Glancing down at what she wore, Lothien pondered over _why._ Certainly her clothes were in good order – the ones she was wearing being of elf-make, and those goods tended to have a quality to them that man-made goods lacked more often than not. _Then again, elves did have a good few centuries to improve on their craft._ Time which men lacked. Though it certainly wasn’t time she lacked. Dimly, she wondered if she ought to have taken up a hobby like weaving. _But then she would’ve had to get the equipment, and she had been ever so reluctant as to leave traces of her existence anywhere for the many years before the most recent ones._

“Do you…” Lothien trailed off, watching as the man filled the buckets he had been given up with river water. “Do you wish for some assistance?” she asked, taking one of the light buckets from him before he could voice for any assistance.

And that was how they arrived back at the camp of men and elves, in step with Nordil, and with a bucket in hand.

* * *

There were eighteen of them. An even split between men and elves – at least until she arrived, and then it was nine elves, nine men, and one monster. Pretty much all of them were dark haired, with one Noldo having the silvery hair of the Sindar – indicative of his ancestory – and Glorfindel, of course, with those golden locks, though one man had blonde hair – although not quite as golden nor as long as the elf’s.

Lothien wondered how she looked to them, bare-footed though dressed finely, with dark eyes, and hair the colour of the darkest midnight sky. _“Ah, yes,”_ her master whispered then. _“Did you know I have seen such a shade of black only once before, little monster?”_ he asked, and Lothien tilted her head, humming in acknowledgement under her breath. _“It is strange for you to look so very beautiful with such a colouring… and truly, it makes me wonder where you came from,”_ her master murmured, ghostly fingers weaving through those blackish-blue locks. _“Darling little monster, will you not tell me why it is your hair colouring is that of unlight?”_

A spider cropped up in her memory then, a wave of terror accompanying it. _Hide. Hide. Hide._ Lothien tilted her head, pondering the thoughts and feelings. They were from times _before_ master had found her, when there was no light bar that of the stars. The time _before_ the sun and moon had appeared. Part of her wondered how long it had been since those times.

_“Tell me, little monster, how do you make something so very dark look so very beautiful?”_

“I do not know,” she murmured, tapping her feet against the ground as the blonde man, Rívalt as he had introduced himself upon her arrival, gave her a strange look.

“You do not know what?” Rívalt asked, and Lothien frowned at him.

“What?” she asked, staring at him in blatant confusion.

Rívalt frowned, looking at her pointedly in annoyance. “You just said—”

“Leave her be,” Mirdandil, the leader of the group of men, said sharply. “She, by her own word, has long been in these woods alone.” He looked pointedly at the blonde man, and Lothien only tilted her head, staring between them curiously. _They could be very strange at times,_ or so she mused before the evening meal was dished out, and Lothien made herself at home in the little camp.

She wondered what the following days would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess this is sort of my two-year-anniversary since I joined the archive. Here's to hoping I'll be able to get more done today as well. Hope everyone is doing alright out there, and that you're all as safe as you can be...
> 
> Happy Reading!

**Author's Note:**

> SPORADIC UPDATES T_T


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